


As Cold as Ice

by HooksandHappyEndings



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Eventual Smut, F/M, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooksandHappyEndings/pseuds/HooksandHappyEndings
Summary: A canon-compliant exploration of the Jonsa tension boiling beneath the surface. Will likely become canon divergent and smutty in the future.





	1. When Southern Kinga Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little experiment and I have no idea where it is going. I am a spoiler free summerchild who still believes in Jonsa and so this fic will be canon-compliant until canon no longer allows for my shipping needs. Until then I’ll follow each Jon/Sansa scene shot for shot, simply inserted my own prose to make way for the juicy internal conflict that hope is going on beneath the surface. If Jonsa happens, that’s what I’ll continue to do. If it doesn’t then you still win because i’ll likely make this fic canon-divergent smut instead.
> 
> For those of you who know me from my Captain Swan fics, this will be very different. Even if it does turn smutty, I doubt I’ll take the dubcon route. That’s just not Jon’s style. But I promise to still deliver the level of quality sexiness you’re used to. For more information of the other fics I’m working on follow me on Tumblr at Hooks-and-Happy-Endings.tumblr.com and if you’re hungry for smut, check out my Captain Swan / GoT crossover The Wolf and the Dragon.
> 
> This fic is also available on ff.net.
> 
> WARNING: This fic contains mentions of rape but does not contain sexual content.

Sansa looked down at the raven scroll in her hand. It was bone cold and there was a pit in her stomach. So the rumors were true. Her husband by law was back in Westeros and very much out of hiding. What did that mean for her? She looked up at her brother who was brooding in his usual way. He had promised to protect her. Would he ever marry her off to serve some political purpose? She shivered. Not at the cold. The cold had been the first to greet her when she’d come into the world. She shivered at the thought of being forced to once again leave her home. To be another man’s plaything. “Do you think it’s really Tyrion?” she asked, “It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.”  
  
“Read the last bit.” Jon replied without turning.  
  
She looked back at the words bleeding out from the Targaryen sigil. The House of the Dragon. How could they hope to defeat a family who’s signature was a threat in and of itself? “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes.” she read allowed, “What does that mean?”  
  
“It’s something he said to me the first night we met.”  
  
Sansa blinked, compulsively annoyed that he had reminded her of the day their family had parted. The day that destroyed her life. All of their lives. The lives of the people they loved. Who knew that Jon would end up being the safest of them all at the Wall. They were two lone survivors, finally together after winning (or weathering) their solitary fights. She hated how she hadn’t cared if she ever saw him again. Now she was anxious every time he was out of sight. Not because she didn’t think she could survive without him, but because he was the only person in the world she could trust. Jon wasn’t going to allow her to be beaten or tormented or raped. Jon would have killed Ramsay for her, if that had been what she’d wanted. In fact, he almost did.  
  
“You know him better than any of us. What do you think?”  
  
Sansa swallowed her surprise. Jon was also the only person who ever wanted to know her opinions and actually listened, the little bit that he did. “Tyrion’s not like the other Lannisters. He was always kind to me but...” she looked away. They needed help, she knew that. But what happens when Jon leaves? What happens when he doesn’t come back? She was a Stark, for now. But who will stop men more powerful than her from selling her off again. Without her brother there to protect her Littlefinger would take advantage of her vulnerability. “...it’s too great a risk.” she finished, looking directly into her brother’s brown eyes. Where will we go. That’s what he’d said and she was going to hold him to that. She read a bit of Tyrion’s message and handed the scroll to Davos.  
  
He reviewed what they knew. Daenerys had a great army and three dragons. She closed her eyes the moment he mentioned fire.  
  
Of course he’ll go. She knew it without a doubt. He was just like their father. Righteous, self-sacrificing idiots, the both of them. “You’re not suggesting Jon meet with her!” Sansa snapped at the Onion Knight.  
  
“No! No, it’s far too dangerous.”  
  
“But?”  
  
Her head snapped to Jon. She seethed. He wanted to go. In fact, he had already made up his mind. She didn’t hear the knight’s reply. Her eyes were boring into the side of her brother’s face. He was going to leave her. She watched the snow dancing through the air. Beautiful and cold. Breathtaking and deadly. That was the North. But snow melts when summer comes. And Starks die when southern kings call.  
  
JSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJS  
  
“A raven, my king, from the Citadel.”  
  
Jon broke from his reverie and turned to take the Raven scroll from Maester Wolkan. He unfurled it and read the words. At first he felt relief flood him, then his stomach dropped. His sister was not going to be happy.”  
  
JSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJS  
  
“I received this a few days ago.”  
  
All eyes were on Jon as his voice boomed around the stone walls of the Great Hall at Winterfell. Sansa watched him from her seat. Her mind had been wandering. There was no point in listening. He had already discussed most of it with her earlier that day. But she was looking at him. He made a good king. Probably better than Rob. He had proved that by refusing Daenerys’ summons. He had decided to stay. He wasn’t going to leave his subjects. Or her.  
  
Jon said, “Lord Tyrion has asked me to meet with Daenerys,” Sansa blinked in surprise when he suddenly turned and looked her in the eyes. In just one instant his face told her everything. It was hard with both remorse and finality. No, she thought desperately, don’t.  
  
“And I’m going to accept.”  
  
The room erupted in in the exclamations of the high lords but Jon did not appear to hear them. Her brother did not look away. His eyes were dark and challenging. Anger exploded within her. Without opening his mouth he was telling her in no uncertain terms that he knew she disagreed and he was doing it anyway.  
  
The lords shouted for his attention but the White Wolf did not release her from his icy stare until he had fully impressed his uncontested authority upon her silent dissent. Finally, he turned back to his subjects. “We need this dragonglass, my lords! We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons.” The men grumbled while Lady Mormont showed no emotion. They knew he was suicidal. How could he not see how stupid he was being? Persistently, Jon continued, raising his voice over the rabble, “But more importantly we need allies! The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. We can’t defeat them, we don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. I need to persuade her to fight with us.” Sansa chose that moment to look over at Littlefinger. Fear filled her belly. She knew that look. He was pleased. Could anyone but Jon protect her from his schemes?  
  
“Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?!” she shouted at her stupid brother. “The Mad King summoned him to King’s Landing and roasted him alive!”  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“She is here to claim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those kingdoms. This isn’t an invitation, it’s a trap!”  
  
“It could be. But I don’t believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He’s a good man.  
  
Sansa was blind with rage just as Ser Royce stood up to question the decision in a manner more eloquent than she was capable of at the moment.  
  
Jon responded with a speech about risks worth taking. Honestly, like father, like son. This was typical of him. Her poor bastard brother, determined to make a martyr out of himself. Perhaps it was his way of living up to the family name he aspired to. But martyrs made for useless kings. And lousy protectors.  
  
“Now I know it’s a risk,” he finished, “but I have to take it.”  
  
“Then send an emissary, don’t go yourself!” she pleaded, standing suddenly from her chair. It was everything she could do not to walk over and shake him until he came to his senses.  
  
“Daenerys is a queen.” he replied calmly, “Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me.”  
  
“You’re abandoning your people!” she cried desperately, “You’re abandoning your home!”  
  
“I’m leaving both in good hands.”  
  
“Whose?!”  
  
“Yours.”  
  
The great hall was all too crowded despite being deadly silent. All eyes were now on her. She looked around nervously. Just moments ago she and Jon had been the only ones in the room. Now it was full of strangers, all of them witnesses to the greatest act of trust and kindness she had ever experienced.  
  
“You are my sister and the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours.”  
  
Sansa let out a breath. She couldn’t believe it. Jon had just given her the ultimate protection: power of her own. He was trusting her with his keep and his country, and for a moment she felt loved and happy. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw him. Littlefinger, his eyes sparkling wickedly from the shadowy corner in which he was lurking. He was pleased, and that meant she should be worried. But Jon was still looking at her and she was drawn back to him, instantly feeling safer under his gaze. He nodded, giving her the command to rule his kingdom well. She nodded back. A promise to serve her king.  
  
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It was quiet and dark in the crypt. Beneath Winterfell the Long Night and the death that came with it lingered long beyond the endless hours of dawn. Here lay the Kings of Winter, his father had said. He had often found Ned at his aunt Lyanna’s grave, deep in thought. Lost in snow drifts that had long since melted.  
  
Jon was nervous. Going to Dragonstone was what his father would have done. Not Rob though. Rob made different mistakes.  
  
Through his thoughts one image haunted his mind’s eye. The image of his sister begging him not to go. He could hear the fear in her voice as if it were echoing off the ancient walls around him. You’re abandoning your people! You’re abandoning your home!  
  
He’d been home since the moment he saw her in the courtyard at Castle Black. They hadn’t been close, but that didn’t matter now. He’d known her for as long as he could remember. She was the sole survivor of the only happy memories he’d ever had. This castle was not his home.The Winterfell of his childhood had been burned to the ground and its ashes defiled by Ramsay Bolton. These people were not his home. Everyone he’d ever known had been slaughtered like sheep and they’re dying bodies used as trophies to terrorize the rest. There was only one piece of home left.  
  
Sansa. Sansa was home. Sansa was fights over broken toys and petty insults. Sansa was proof that such an innocent time ever existed in the first place. Sansa was the existence of House Stark itself. Forget ancient stones and the tombs of kings who knelt. The Lady of Winterfell was his holdfast now.  
  
“I delivered his bones myself.”  
  
Jon turned to see Lord Baelish walking towards him. Instantly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like the hackles of a wolf and his hand itched for the hilt of his sword.  
  
“Presented them to Lady Catelyn as a gesture of good will from Tyrion Lannister.” Jon didn’t bother to look as the sniveling lord came to stand beside him. “Seems like a lifetime ago. Do give Tyrion my best when you see him.”  
  
Jon smirked humorlessly. Eloquent as always. He wondered for the millionth time if Littlefinger had known what Ramsay was going to do to his sister. His fist clenched as he remember the dark bruises he’d seen on her pale white skin.  
  
“I was sorry when he died.” Baelish said, pretending to admire his father’s image, “Your father and I had out differences but he loved Cat very much. So did I.”  
  
Jon felt Baelish looking at him but had no interest in reciprocating. This man didn’t respect his father. His obsession with Catelyn was evidenced by the way he looked at Sansa when no one was looking. If he thought Jon hadn’t noticed, he was wrong.  
  
“She wasn’t fond of you, was she?”  
  
Jon’s blood turned ice cold. Catelyn’s hate had been brutal. A stain on the few fond memories he had.  
  
“Well it appears she vastly underestimated you. Father and brother’s are gone yet here you stand. Last, best hope against the coming storm.  
  
Anger flushed the cold from his bones at the insinuation that he was somehow victorious in being the last of his kind. Jon turned to Littlefinger, “You don’t belong down here.”  
  
“Forgive me,” Baelish replied without an ounce of sincerity, “We haven’t ever talked, properly. I wanted to remedy that.”  
  
“I have nothing to say to you.” he returned with no subtle intention before turning to leave.  
  
“Not even thank you?” Littlefinger called after him.  
  
Jon stopped in his tracks.  
  
“If it weren’t for me you’d have been slaughtered on that battlefield. You have many enemies, my king, but I swear to you, I’m not one of them. I love Sansa, as I loved her mother.”  
  
Jon barely had time to comprehend the treasonous words before he felt his face curl into a sneer and violent anger exploded through his body. All his saw was red. Whether it was the red of Sansa’s long hair or the red of Littlefinger’s bloody corpse he did not know but when he opened his eyes he had the wretched man pinned to the stone wall by the neck, his grip on his throat iron tight. Baelish squirmed and sputtered. Jon enjoyed watching him struggle to breathe. He saw Sansa’s bruises. The way she could barely walk when she’d first stumbled into his arms. The way she still flinched at sudden movements and didn’t like to be touched. He pressed harder, fueled by a rage he was unable to control. He was a king now, and that meant his sister would never be used as a tool again, but he could never free her from the desecration of her body that this man had caused. How dare he claim to love her. How dare he even speak her name. No unwanted hand would ever touch her again. Not as long as long as Jon breathed.  
  
“Touch my sister,” he warned, “and I’ll kill you myself.” He released the pathetic excuse for a man and stalked out of the crypt before he murdered an unfortunately necessary ally. He wouldn’t have expected such a thing to upset him so violently, but the idea a man like that touching his sister made him want to smash something. The idea of any man touching his sister...  
  
He shook off the thought before it had even formed and mounted his horse. Jon couldn’t help but turn back to look at the woman he had just nearly killed for. She looked so sad, standing on the balcony, but she also looked at home. Their eyes met and he waved. Sansa smiled sadly but waved back. He urged his horse forward and hoped to all the gods that he would see home again. Wherever she was.  
  



	2. A Kingdomless Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this turned out way longer than I thought it would. I have literally been working since 4am this morning. There wasn’t a ton of Jonsa added but there is plenty of anti-Jonerys so hopefully that will satisfy us all for now.
> 
> This fic is also available on ff.net.
> 
> WARNING: This fic contains mentions of rape but does not contain sexual content.

_She’s a fine woman, your sister. I’ll be happy to have her back in my bed._  
  
Jon shot upright in his tiny bunk. He desperately looked around the cabin and grasped the air where his sword should have been as Ramsay Bolton’s words echoed in his head. Jaw clenched, he closed is eyes and pictured his sister’s face. She was beautiful. Soft and pale light a high winter moon. Her bruises had faded, he reminded himself. Her injuries had all but healed. She was safe in their castle, waiting for him to return.  
  
The beach at Dragonstone was a dreary sight. It really was just a giant rock.The ancient keep that guarded it was just as bleak in design and construction. He thought it none too ironic that the House of Fire and Blood had chosen to build their castle in a place that had nothing left to burn.  
  
When they reached the shore they were greeted by strange men with brown skin and braided hair. They also had oddly curved blades instead of longswords. Jon wondered how well he would fare against a Dothraki. It was said that on horseback they were unstoppable, but he didn’t see any horses around.   
  
The savages parted to reveal a familiar looking dwarf with golden hair. “The Bastard of Winterfell.” Tyrion said with no inflection.  
  
“The Dwarf of Casterly Rock.” Jon returned.  
  
They stood for a moment in pensive silence until, finally, Tyrion’s mouth curled into a clever smile. Jon smiled back, relieved to be in his company once more. “I believe last we saw each other was atop the wall.” Tyrion remarked, extending his hand.  
  
Jon shook it, “You were pissin’ off the edge if I remember right.” he said, making Tyrion smirk. Jon studied the dwarf’s face carefully. “Picked up some scars along the road.”  
  
“It’s been a long road,” he nodded, “but we’re both still here.” Tyrion then looked past Jon and introduced himself to Davos. “I’m Tyrion Lannister.”  
  
Davos stepped forward to shake his hand, “Davos Seaworth.”  
  
“Ah! The Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”  
  
“Unluckily for me.”  
  
Tyrion gestured to the dark skinned woman on his left. “Missandei is the queen’s most trusted advisor.”  
  
She nodded, smiling warmly, “Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciated the efforts you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons.”  
  
Jon looked around nervously. He heard Sansa as if she was standing right next to him. _Don’t do it. If you die here I’ll be all al--_ “Of course.” he sighed, forcing Sansa’s pleading face from his mind just as it began to rot and crack into that of a blue-eyed corpse. Sickness filled him as he put Longclaw in the hands of a Dothraki. He felt naked without it, but what could he do? Then he looked over his shoulder and saw several Dothraki dragging his boat away.  
  
“Please,” Missandei said pleasantly, “this way.”  
  
Jon swallowed his dread and reluctantly followed the escort down the beach. Beneath the sound of crashing waves he heard his sister once more. _You’re an idiot, Jon Snow._  
  
He sighed. I know.  
  
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The walk up to the castle was agonizingly long. Tyrion was obviously trying to ease the tension but was failing miserably. To be honest, Jon wasn’t really listening.His thoughts were too loud with the chaotic sounds of panic and regret, but one comment finally brought him back to the world.  
  
“And Sansa, I hear she’s alive and well?”  
  
Jon replied reluctantly, “She is.”  
  
“Does she miss me terribly?”  
  
Jon knitted his eyebrows at the foolish dwarf. Sansa didn’t talk much about her time at Kings Landing. All he knew was that their marriage had been forced upon her. He had heard rumors of how Jofferey had her stripped of her clothes and  beaten in front of him for entertainment. Supposedly Tyrion had stopped the spectacle, but Jon had often wondered if the little Lannister had been so chivalrous on their wedding night. Anger suddenly boiled within him. He looked away, jaw clenched.  
  
Tyrion turned back to see the lack of humor in Jon’s expression and quickly said, “A sham marriage. And unconsummated.”  
  
“I didn’t ask.” he snapped, looking up at the sky.  
  
“Well it was. Wasn’t. Anyway... she’s much smarter than she lets on.”  
  
Jon focused on his sister’s face. No bruises. No cuts. Just her beautiful, untouched face telling him off. Calling him a fool. He resisted the urge to smile, “She’s starting to let on.”  
  
“Good,” said Tyrion, and Jon thought he truly sounded pleased. “At some point I want to hear how a Night’s Watch recruit became King in the North.”  
  
“As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen.”  
  
“A long and bloody tale. To be honest I was drunk for most of it.”  
  
Jon nervously looked around. Tyrion was trying a little too hard to be charming. Not a good sign. “My bannermen think I’m a fool for coming here.”  
  
“Of course they do. If I was your Hand I would have advised against it.” Tyrion looked back, “General rule of thumb -- Stark men don’t fare well when they travel South.”  
  
 _Neither do the women_. “True, but I’m not a Stark.”  
  
Just then a great screech exploded from the sky above. Jon hit the ground as enormous wings flapped just inches from the bridge they were standing on. When he looked back to see what had happened he saw an amazing sight. A dragon, a real dragon, huge and red like blood, soaring up into the sky. His heart pounded in his chest from the fright. The sound of his panting breaths assured him he was still alive, but his mind was fuzzy with shock.  
  
Tyrion offered his hand, “I’d say you get used to them but... you never really do.”  
  
As he helped him to his feet, Jon kept an eye on the magnificent beast and watched as another creature joined it in the sky.  
  
“Come!” Tyrion said, “their mother is waiting for you.”  
  
John stole a nervous glance at Davos before continuing up the hill. This was a mistake, he thought solemnly.  
  
 _Yes_ , she replied, _it was_.  
  
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When Jon and his party entered Aegon’s throneroom he warily took in the sight. It was just as imposing as he had expected. All sharps angles and dark shadows. Hard rock and salty air. A young woman with long silver hair sat in shadow at the far end of the room, her hands placed neatly in her lap. She looked all too comfortable on her throne made of stone. Especially for someone who had only been sitting in it for a few months. Her foreign soldiers stood guard, their bare chests flaunting muscles that would do nothing to stop Longclaw’s icy bite.  
  
“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.  
  
Silence fell over the large chamber. Jon awkwardly looked to Davos who quickly said, “This is Jon Snow... He’s King in the North”  
  
The girl spoke in a pleasant and clearly practiced voice, “Thank you for traveling so far, my lord. I hope the seas weren’t too rough.”  
  
“The winds were kind, your Grace.”  
  
Davos surprised him by speaking up, “Apologies. I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon is King in the North. He’s not a lord.”  
  
“Forgive me...?”  
  
“Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth.” offered Tyrion.  
  
“Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never received a formal education, but I could have sworn I read that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen swore fealty to House Targayren in perpetuity. Or,” she asked innocently, “do I have my facts wrong?”  
  
Jon looked at the self-proclaimed queen dubiously.  
  
“I wasn’t there, your Grace.” Davos replied.  
  
“No, of course not.” Daenerys replied with a sickly sweet smile, “But still, and oath is an oath. And perpetuity means... What does perpetuity mean?” she asked, making a rather embarrassing attempt at ignorance. Jon had never met a Targaryen but apparently, even for the exiles, humility was not their strong suit.  
  
“Forever.” Tyrion answered.  
  
“Forever.” she repeated, with an arrogant smile.  
  
Jon sighed. He did not travel all this way for a vocabulary lesson from the daughter of the man who murdered his family. Nor did he desire a history lesson from a foreigner guarded by foreign soldiers in a keep made with foreign magic.  
  
“So,” she said, “I assume, my lord, that you’re here to bend the knee.”  
  
Jon looked down at the stone floor. Why was he surprised? This girl who had yet to conquer a single Westerosi kingdom thought she was better than him because her ancestors were powerful. He wondered if, in her studies, this dragon queen had noted that his royal lineage stretched back thousands of years before Aegon ever even stepped foot in Westeros, or that none of the Kings in the North ever burned people alive, fed them to dragons, or imprisoned their sisters to keep themselves from committing incestuous rape. He wondered if she knew that when his family lost it’s crown it was to save their people, not because they were overthrown by their subjects for committing heinous and sadistic crimes.  
  
Jon took a deep breath, “I am not.”  
  
Oh,” she said, looking pleased to have an excuse to throw her weight around some more, “well, that’s unfortunate. You traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?”  
  
Jon laughed humorlessly, “Break faith? Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms--"  
  
“My father,” she interjected, “was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen I asked forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter for the sins of her father.”  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain silent. Did this girl plan on apologizing for the rest of her family’s transgressions? Because that was going to take a while. once again, he thought of his sister, her body bruised inside and out. He wondered if that was what Lyanna had looked like when Rhaegar was done with her.  
  
“Our houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity, with a Targayren sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen Jon Snow. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”  
  
Jon thought of the fire-breathing dragons soaring in the sky above them and wondered what part they would play in not destroying things. He looked around at the imposing room. Aegon had built it to make loyal subject, not allies. It was an impressive space to be sure. But his castle was older, and the only lord to ever take it from his family had been beaten nearly to death and fed to ravenous dogs by the only Starks left to avenge them.  
  
He was at her mercy, standing in the heart of her keep with no weapons or guards, but he would not bend the knee to this arrogant brat with a thousand fancy names she gave  to herself. And if he refused her and died here and now, he could rest knowing Sansa would avenge him too. He would not kneel, and neither would she.  
  
“You’re right.” he said, “You’re not guilty of your father’s crimes. And I am not beholden to my ancestors vows."  
  
Daenerys’ expression hardened. “Then why are are you here?”  
  
“Because I need your help. And you need mine.”  
  
The girl exchanged a displeased look with a nervous Tyrion, “Did you see three dragons when you arrived?” she asked with disdain.  
  
Jon fought to hold in his anger. _You should have listened to me_ , Sansa hissed. “I did.”  
  
“And did you see the Dothraki? All of whom are sworn to kill for me?”  
  
“They’re hard to miss.”  
  
“But still, I need your help.”  
  
“Not to defeat Cersei.” Davos said, “You could storm Kings Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell we almost took it and we didn’t even have dragons.”  
  
“Almost.” Tyrion put in.  
  
“But you haven’t stormed Kings Landing.” Jon said, “Why not? The only reason I can see is you don’t want to kill thousands of innocent people. It’s the fastest way to end the war but you won’t do it. Which means, at the very least, you’re better than Cersei.”  
  
Daenerys did not seem flattered by this comment. “Still, that doesn’t explain why I need your help.”  
  
Jon took a deep breath, “Because right now you and I and Cersei and everyone else, we’re just children playing at a game, screaming because the rules aren’t fair.”  
  
“You told me you liked this man.” Daenerys snapped spitefully at Tyrion.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“In the time since he’s met me,” she said, “he’s refused to call me queen, he’s refused to bow, and now he’s calling me a child.”  
  
"I believe he’s calling all of us children.” Tyrion replied nervously, “Figure of speech.”  
  
Jon’s impatience with this haughty princess was reaching it’s limit but he forced restraint. “You’re Grace, everyone you know will die before winter’s over if we don’t defeat the enemy to the north.”  
  
“As far as I can see _you_ are the enemy to the north.”  
  
“I am not your enemy.” he said, “The dead are the enemy.”  
  
“The dead.” Daenerys deadpanned. She looked to Tyrion, “Is that another figure of speech.”  
  
Jon pressed on despite her incredulous and disrespectful tone, “The Army on the Dead is on the march.”  
  
Tyrion repeated, also incredulous, “The Army of the Dead?”  
  
He huffed in frustration, “You don’t know me well, my lord, but do you think I’m a liar or a madman?”  
  
“No,” replied Tyrion with a shake of his head, “I don’t think you’re either of those things.”  
  
“The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I’ve seen them. If they get past the wall and we’re squabbling amongst ourselves--” Jon took an angry step forward but was stopped by the movements of the Dothraki guards. He looked around, desperate to be believed by just one person. _I believe you._ “...we’re finished."  
  
The girl was silent for a long moment. Her eyes were hard, her mouth frozen in a permanently smug expression. When she finally spoke she said, “I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert’s assassin’s could find us." She stood and began making her way towards him with slow steps that echoed forbodingly around the hall. “Robert was your father’s best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I’ve spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don’t remember all their names.” she said, coming closer, “I have been sold like a brood mare. I’ve been chained and betrayed. Raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing all those years in exile?”  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched. If those qualities made for a good queen, he knew another woman who deserved a crown.  
  
Daenerys continued, “Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn’t see a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea. Any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms,” she said, looking into his eyes, “and I will.”  
  
Jon nodded, holding back his ire. “You’ll be ruling over a graveyard if we can’t defeat the Night King.”  
  
There was a long, tense moment until Tyrion stepped forward. “The war against my sister has already begun. You can’t expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting... whatever you saw beyond the wall.”  
  
Davos stepped forward, “You don’t believe him. I understand that. It sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores then it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros. He was the first to make allies of Wildlings and Northmen. He was named lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright, he has no birthright, he’s a damn bastard. All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him.” As Jon stared at the floor, somehow embarrassed by his own accomplishments, Davos continued, “All those things you don’t believe in, he fought those things.He fought those things for the good of his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own li--” jon quickly cut him off with a sharp look. After an apologetic pause Davos said, “If we don’t put aside our enmities and band together we will die. And then it doesn’t matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne.”  
  
“If it doesn’t matter then you might as well kneel!” Tyrion implored. “Show your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her defeat my sister and together our armies will protect the North.”  
  
“We don’t have time for that!” Jon snapped, “There’s no time for any of this! While we stand here debating--”  
  
“It takes no time to kneel. Pledge your sword to her cause.”  
  
“And why would I do that?!” he shouted. He had had enough of this game. He had had enough of this self-righteous kingdomless queen telling him to kiss her ass because of her family name. His sister had endured just as much as this woman and had never asked for power. She had given him Winterfell when it was rightfully hers. She had obeyed him, her bastard brother, even when she disagreed with him. She believed in White Walkers even though she’d never seen one because she trusted him. She had escaped a queen that wanted her killed. She had escaped the traitors that murdered her family and stole her home. She had executed her rapist herself and avenged her mother and brothers. If Daenerys Targaryen thought she could intimidate him with her resilience she was wrong. “I mean no offense, your Grace, but I don’t know you. As far as I can tell your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father’s name and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so as well as I can.”  
  
After a moment Daenerys replied, “That’s fair. It’s also fair to point out that I am the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring yourself king of the northern most kingdom you are in open rebellion.”  
  
Jon was silent. He truly had nothing to say. Whether she killed him or not was irrelevant. If he returned to Sansa as Warden of the North his sister would strangle him herself.  
  
The awkward silence was broken by the urgent footsteps of a servant. The bald man whispered something in her ear and her face went dark. “You must forgive my manners. You will both be tired after your long journey. We’ll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms.” She spoke a few words to a Dothraki guard and began walking back to her throne.  
  
“Am I your prisoner?” Jon called after her.  
  
She turned, studying him for a moment, “Not yet.”  
  
And with that, Jon and Davos were escorted out of the throne room. As the doors closed behind them Sansa whispered, _This is why Starks shouldn’t leave home_.  
  
Jon sighed. If only home could have come with him.  
  
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The next day, the King in the North stood on a high cliff looking out onto the sea. It wasn’t very cold but he had put his cloak on anyway. As children, he had teased Sansa for loving but her sewing needles. Who knew that one day his most treasured piece of clothing would be made by her hands.  
  
He needed to get back to her. Not that she needed him. Winterfell was likely running smoother than it ever had. Still, he couldn’t get Petyr’s sniveling face out of his head. The man was conniving and ruthless, and his affections for redheads who lived at Winterfell were notoriously undeterred by threats of violence from Stark men.  
  
Amidst his brooding, Jon heard the soft footsteps of someone small joining him on the cliff.  
  
“I came here to brood over my failure to predict the Greyjoy attack.” the dwarf said. “You’re making it difficult. You look a lot better brooding than I do.” Jon didn’t respond but Tyrion pressed on, “You make me feel like I’m failing at brooding over failing.”  
  
"I’m a prisoner on this island.” he said, not in the mood for humor.  
  
“I wouldn’t say you’re a prisoner on this island.” Tyrion stated tentatively, “You’re free to walk the castle, and the beaches. To go wherever you want.”  
  
“Except my ship.” Jon fired back, “You took my ship.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say we took your ship.”  
  
“I’m not playing word games with you. The dead are coming for us all.”  
  
Tyrion replied, “Why don’t you figure out what to do about my missing fleet and murdered allies, and I’ll figure out what to do about your walking dead men.”  
  
Jon snapped impatiently, “It’s hard for me to fathom, it really is. If someone told me about the White Walkers and the Night King...” he closed his eyes in frustration, “You probably don’t believe me.”  
  
“I do actually.”  
  
“You didn’t before. Grumkins and Snarks you called them. Do you remember? You said it was all nonsense.”  
  
Tyrion nodded, “It was nonsense. Everybody knew it. But then Mormont saw them, and you saw them. And I trust the eyes of an honest man more than I trust what everybody knows.”  
  
Jon sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. “How can I convince people that don’t know me that an army they don’t believe in is trying to kill them all?”  
  
“Good question.” agreed the unhelpful dwarf.  
  
“I know it’s a good question. I’m looking for an answer.”  
  
“People’s minds aren’t made for problems that large. White Walkers, the Night King, Army of the Dead... It’s almost a relief to confront a comfortable, familiar monster like my sister.”  
  
Jon looked down at his feet. _His_ sister wasn’t a monster. He thought about her, alone at Winterfell. What if he wasn’t there when they came? She was the strongest woman he knew but she couldn’t wield a sword. her supposed admirer certainly couldn’t protect her. She needed him, even if she’d never admit it. “I need to help prepare my people for what’s coming.” he said into the wind, “I can’t help them from here. I’d like to leave.”  
  
Tyrion shook his head. “It seems unlikely that you became King in the North by giving up that easily.”  
  
 _It’s not an invitation, it’s a trap!_ “Everyone told me to learn from my father’s mistakes. Don’t go South. Don’t answer a summons from the Mad King’s daughter, a foreign invader. And here I am. A Northern fool.”  
  
“Children are not their fathers, luckily for all of us.” And sometimes there’s more to foreign invaders and Northern fools than meets the eye. Daenerys could have sailed for Westeros long ago but she didn’t. She stayed where she was and saved many people from horrible fates. Some of them are on this island with us, right now. While you’re here as our guest you might consider asking them what they think about the Mad King’s daughter.”  
  
Jon looked doubtfully down at the dwarf.  
  
Tyrion said, “She protects people from monsters. Just as you do. It’s why she came here. And she’s not about to head north to fight an enemy she’s never seen on the word of a man she doesn’t know after a single meeting. It’s not a reasonable thing to ask.”  
  
Jon took in the dwarf’s words. What had become of Tyrion Lannister? It appeared the drunken rake was now a sycophant of some kind. Perhaps she had done some good in the east, but Jon knew exactly why Daenerys Targaryen had come to Westeros and it wasn’t to save people from monsters. In fact, as far as he could see all she’d managed to do so far was bring three more monsters to Westeros. Jon began to leave. He had nothing more to say to this southern lord. The last ruler Tyrion had served had been the cunt who’d beheaded his father and threatened to rape his sister on their wedding night. A humiliating, forced marriage that this Imp, regardless of his intentions, had been a participate in.  
  
As he walked away Tyrion inquired, “So, do you have anything reasonable to ask?”  
  
Jon turned, not in the mood for anymore fancy words, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Maybe you are a Northern fool. I’m asking if there’s something I can do to help.”  
  
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Jon stepped out onto the stony pathway. Daenerys was just down the hill, looking over the waves. The sun was setting, and he had to admit that the dragons in the distance made for a beautiful scene. “Amazing thing to see.” he said, stepping down towards her.  
  
“I named them after my brothers,” the dragon queen said, “Viserys and Rhaeger. They’re both gone now.” She turned as he came to stand beside her, “You lost two brothers as well?”  
  
Solemnly he nodded, trying not to think about Littlefinger’s words.  
  
“People thought dragons were gone forever but here they are. Perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know.”  
  
Jon heard the dwarf’s voice when she spoke, “You been talking to Tyrion?”  
  
“He is my Hand.” she said, almost regretfully.  
  
“He enjoys talking.”  
  
“We all enjoy what we’re good at.”  
  
Jon saw Longclaw cutting through dozens of men on the battlefield, their guts staining his Valyrian steel. He saw Slynt’s head rolling on the wooden platform at Castle Black. He saw his men running for their lives at Hardholm. He saw Ollie hanging lifeless from a rope. He saw Ramsay’s bloody and broken face caving in as he smashed it into his scull while his sister watched. “I don’t.”  
  
She was silent, most likely using her imagination. “You know I’m not going to let Cersei stay on the Iron Throne?”  
  
“I never expected that you would.”  
  
“And you know I haven’t changed my mind about which kingdoms belong to that throne?”  
  
“I haven’t either.” he replied sternly. She glared at him, unflinching. He couldn’t decide if Sansa would have loved this woman or hated her. Not many women would shout at their king in front of his subjects but his fierce sister made a habit of it. He’d been gone for weeks. He suspected that by this time the North was either plotting her assassination or crowing her queen.  
  
Finally, Daenerys spoke, “I will allow you to mine the dragonglass and forge weapons from it. Any resources and men you need I will provide for you.”  
  
Jon turned to her in surprise. He took a moment to make sure she was serious and then said, “Thank you.” He turned to leave as hope blossomed in his chest. But before he left he asked tentatively, “So... you believe me then? About the Night King and the Army of the Dead?”  
  
Looking out over the water she said simply, “You better get to work, Jon Snow.”  
  
After an appreciate moment he left, before she could change her mind.  
  
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“How much do we have?” Sansa asked. She could feel Lord Baelish skulking about but she was too engrossed in her new responsibilities to care.  
  
“Four-thousand bushels, my lady.” Maester Wolkan answered.  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“For the currant occupants it’s enough food for a year. Perhaps more.” said Ser Royce.  
  
“And what’s the longest winter in the past hundred years?”  
  
“Uh...” the maester stuttured, “I-I’m not entirely certain. I’ll have to check Maester Luwin’s records. He kept a copy of every raven scroll.”  
  
Sansa walked down the wooden steps to the castle yard below, Baelish following close behind. “You’re telling me we don’t have enough food. Especially not if the armies of the North come back to defend Winterfell.”  
  
“Eh... no, my lady, most likely not.”  
  
“Then we must prepare for that eventuality. Whatever direction the threat comes from this is the safest place to be. We need to start building up our grain stores with regular shipments from every keep in the North. If we don’t use it by winter’s end we’ll give it back to them but if the entire North has to flee to Winterfell they won’t have enough time to bring wagonloads of grain with them.”  
  
“Very wise, my lady.” praised Royce.  
  
“Maester Wolkan, you’ll see to it?”  
  
Wolkan bowed and left to fulfill her orders.  
  
Sansa smiled as her party continued on. It was good having real power. Jon wasn’t the only one listening to her now. As they passed the blacksmith she inquired to the knight, “Are they covering those breastplates in leather?”  
  
“No, my lady.”  
  
She turned to him, concerned, “Well, shouldn’t they be? Once the real cold comes.”  
  
“They should indeed. pardon me, my lady.”  
  
As Royce left to chastise the smith Sansa found herself, once again, alone with Baelish. They passed beneath an archway as she awaited his inevitable comment.  
  
“Command suits you.” he said, “The Northerners are all facing north, worried about the threat beyond the wall.”  
  
“So they should be.” If Jon said dead men were coming to attack the living she believed him. He was honest, like their father. He wouldn’t lie.  
  
“I know Cersei better than anyone here. If you turn your back on her--”  
  
“You don’t know Cersei better than anyone here.” Sansa said, rolling her eyes.  
  
“I only meant to say--”  
  
“That the woman who murdered my mother, father, and brother is dangerous? Thank you for your wise counsel.”  
  
“One of two things will happen. Either the dead will defeat the living, in which case,” he laughed, “all our troubles come to an end. Or--” he swung around suddenly, blocking her path, “Life will win out. And what then?” Her eyes flitted around nervously. They were all alone. “Don’t fight in the North, or the South. Fight every battle everywhere. Always. In your mind. Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening, all at once. live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something you’ve seen before.”  
  
Sansa felt trapped in his emotionless gaze. She couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to tell her something specific. Perhaps some unexpected turn of events that she had yet to foresee. She thought back to the day Jon had left. Littlefinger had followed him into the crypt. Afterwards, he had looked uneasy, and had stayed away from her all day. She wondered what had happened there. Her eyes floated down to his neck where she thought she saw the hint of a bruise beneath his collar.  
  
“Lady Sansa!”  
  
She turned to see a soldier looking at her urgently.  
  
“At the gate!” he said.  
  
Sansa followed him into the main yard where a crowd had gathered. A wave of worry filled her belly. As she rounded the corner her heart stopped. She stood there, frozen with shock. Everyone was silent. Tears filled her eyes and her lips quivered.  
  
“Hello, Sansa.” said Bran in deep voice that was completely unfamiliar to her.  
  
Bursting into tears she lept onto the cart and wrapped her arms around him. He was alive. He was home. He was safe. She smiled through her tears. It seemed Starks were getting less rare by the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Guys I really need feedback on this one. I’ve never written anything that isn’t smut driven and I can’t tell if I’m actually contributing to the story or just transcribing it. on top of that, these are seriously hard work. I have to meticulously go through each shot which takes an insane amount of time and I hand wrote 5,500 words today so my hand is on fire! Not that I didn’t enjoy it. Just want to know I need to add more, or less, or if you guys just want more of the same. Also, I’m considering doing a parallel fic that is alternate versions of the scenes I write about here. For example I want to write a version of the Dany/Jon convo where he brings up Sansa. Stuff like that. Let me know if you want it.
> 
> For sneak peeks in between updates or if you just want to chat follow me at Hooks-and-Happy-Endings.tumblr.com. I love talking with you guys!
> 
> If you would like to be tagged in future updates and/or sneak peeks just send me a message.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment. Feedback brings the updates. I’m not even sure if anyone wants to read something like this but if there’s interest I’ll try to get the updates posted a couple days after the episode airs. Next I’ll be working on an update covering the Jon and Sansa scenes from 7x03 which will be posted by the end of the week. For sneak peeks in between updates or if you just want to chat follow me at Hooks-and-Happy-Endings.tumblr.com. I love talking with you guys!
> 
> If you would like to be tagged in future updates and/or sneak peeks just send me a message.


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